


Born in Fever

by elephant_eyelash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Infanticide, Purple Prose, Traumatic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:43:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephant_eyelash/pseuds/elephant_eyelash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya and Gendry in Winter. Originally posted on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born in Fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stevee (hypaereon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypaereon/gifts).



> Also just decided to gift this to Stevee, even though it was not originally done as such-- but Stevee is awesome, and I can't wait to geek out with her over s3. Also I only really like doing gift fics, it seems?

The wine was thick on his tongue. He is imagining it poured over her breasts, between the bones like mountains and rivulets. She sits by the fire, a small silhouette, her hair pooling by her shoulders. He moves over to her, puts a hand on her shoulder, feeling the taut muscles beneath his fingers. The touch is enough to make them both feel breathless. He takes a seat opposite her, silent. The fire warms their cheeks. 

That night she brings her body close to him, under musty furs, hiding from the damp air. This night is not about the touches that are born in fever. Instead he cups her face in his hand, kisses and warms her cheeks with his lips whilst she shuts her eyes. This night is about his love, sweet and clumsy and rough around the edges. 

/// 

She is hungry. He carves a slice of mouldy apple, slides it between her lips. She accepts it silently. They share their food, an unspoken rule, like how they share their bed. At night the snow slides off the branches, slip slop. Nymeria buries her nose in it, to try and smell the earth, then turns back to her mistress. They are all so hungry. Nymeria dreams of thin hares snapping between polished teeth. She dreams of coppery blood and sinew, and Arya does too. The hunger makes her want to cry. 

///

He does anything to get them food. He hunts for emaciated birds who are like smudges of soot against the endless white. She cracks open river beds with stone and watches for fish, little flashes of silver. And he comes back with a sad, hopeful smile. That night he will not eat, will ignore the twisting pain that seems to emerge from his stomach and then spread throughout his body. 

///

Her belly is getting rounder. At night he charts the growth of it with his fingers as she sleeps. He wonders if she knows. In the depths of the coldest cold they kiss and fumble under furs to share the warmth of their blood, their heartbeat. He keeps her pressed close to his chest and wishes, prays. Not now little one, he thinks, wait a while, wait for this world to turn once more. 

/// 

The baby is born in the Godswood. He watches the blood and birth spill out and spoil the pristine snow. He is numb, watching it from somewhere afar in his mind. It’s a boy, a dark little boy with skinny limbs and fine eyelashes. Arya cries when it comes out, not from joy or relief or even pain but from the realisation that it is here, it has happened. 

Gendry wraps the baby in his cloak and brings it to her so it can feed. Instead Arya chokes and cries as it feeds from her, and he realises it is crying too. He helps clean her up and finally Arya gets to sleep, smaller and skinnier and less whole. 

/// 

He brings up the not-now baby in his arms and walks to the middle of the forest. He stops at a clearing where the sunlight touches the forest floor in an almost perfect circle of pure light. It seems the right place, he knows. The river is just beside it. He breaks open the ice with his fist. He gazes below. The dark, gurgling water seems peaceful somehow. Yes, this was right. 

The baby doesn’t cry. He has been silent all night, as if he wasn’t really there, as if he knew that somehow he wasn’t real. 

Gendry slides it into the darkness. 

///

When he comes back she is waiting for him. She looks to him and he nods, and she nods too. He helps her up, cleans the dried blood off of her thighs, lets her lean into him. They carry on walking.


End file.
